CHAPTER 3
It was late summer, not-quite thirteen years since the unexpected little girl walked out of the fireplace and startled old Franny half to death. It was an unusual birth story, perhaps one of the most unusual birth stories, but Franny had always been a resolute sort of person and had decided to just get on with figuring out the next steps. All of the questions one might expect to ask were asked - “What is your name?” There was none. “Where did you come from?” She did not know. “Did you singe my rug?”
Franny made inquiries for a time, though she could not deny the unlikelihood of involved parents for a girl who appeared in someone’s living room without clothing or memory. Still, it had seemed like the correct thing to do. It did not take long before the realization settled in that no one was coming to claim this little one, and, anyway, Franny had grown fond of her. When this was decided, Franny simply told the townspeople that a young relative had come to stay with her after the death of her parents. No one wanted to sit still for a sad orphan story, so it usually passed without question.
A few times, someone would ask if Franny was certain that the girl was not of the Liminal, but Franny had convincingly waved it off with such haughty disdain that it was only the most stubborn of townsfolk that outwardly maintained the suspicion that the little redhead was not entirely of the mortal reality.
It had been a good, quiet existence in the Golden Grove township and countryside. In the beginning, the girl-child - whom Franny called Naomi - had felt unsure about her place there. Franny had done her best to ensure that Naomi was accepted by village society, but novel-reading had not prepared her with the specifics of child-rearing.
In an effort to help the single adult that took care of her in this life, little Naomi attempted to discover what Franny might like and made attempts at doing that without being told. A year into her stay, for example, she attempted to make Franny’s favorite apple cake while Franny was out in the garden. It had resulted in a bowl of eggshells and yolk, as well as flour caked onto Naomi’s face, hands, dress, and all available surfaces in the kitchen.
Franny, having never had a child of her own before to prepare her for such an event, was aghast when she walked back inside. “What is this! What have you done!”
Seeing the tears in Naomi’s eyes, hearing her whimper, Franny had then taken her first real step into motherhood. She walked forward, opened her arms, and welcomed Naomi within them. Naomi took this invitation with heaving sobs, smearing tear-soaked flour across Franny’s dress.
And then, when Naomi had calmed enough to pull back and look at Franny, there had been a pause - a moment - of question. How would they make meaning here? How would they go forward? Franny then pressed her finger against Naomi’s flour-caked nose and transferred some of that dusty whiteness to her own. Naomi’s eyes widened. Franny smiled. And then they laughed. Naomi curled into Franny’s lap and Franny held her, laughing into the little girl’s wild red mane and feeling Naomi’s giggles against her chest.
Naomi started calling Franny “Mother” not long after. She still made countless attempts to please Franny and gain better understanding of what those attempts meant about who she was in the world, but they were not as desperate. She had calmed.
Franny raised the girl to the liminal age of (they guessed) nineteen. Naomi was not a star pupil of the Golden Grove schoolhouse, often finding it difficult to pay attention. This pained Franny, surprising her with how hopeful she had been to project her own studiousness onto the child. Keeping up with the other students had been a challenge, but with Franny’s diligent and insistent help, Naomi had managed.
In other skills, Naomi excelled. Working with her hands was her preference, and she was keen to cook, sew, embroider, and - alas - practice sword fighting. Every morning, the boys and girls of Golden Grove were taught weapons and combat in service of the Cedarvale Collective, which was really just a nice name for Chancellor Crawmford’s imperial ambitions.
The combat training skills had not always been co-ed, and they weren’t in most of Cedarvale. However, the Hawthorn family was fairly influential in Golden Grove, and their daughter Piper had fussed endlessly about not being able to do something her brothers were allowed to do. And so, Instructor Sponder had relented, and the girls had the option of combat training in addition to the other skills required of them.
They were all required to practice skills in order to become soldiers, workers, or householders, in service of the Collective. Service for all was mandatory for a period of at least three years. As proficiency was determined, the recruits were sorted into fighters, factory workers, or houseworkers, with women usually being placed in factories, households, or marriages.
Franny had spoken often about her marriage to Stephen, and so marrying for love was what Naomi envisioned, should she get married at all. Having met all the men and boys within Golden Grove, Naomi had thus narrowed down her choices to soldier or worker. Naomi had then decided that she would much rather swing a blade than hammer one, so that was what she set out to do. And anyway, she was good at it - surprisingly good. And it was nice to be good at anything, feeling otherwise out of place the rest of the time.
The seasons moved in and out of linear time, peppering the countryside with dandelions and violets in the spring, wild rose and brambleberries in the summer, goldenrod and asters in the autumn, and whispering snow and frostberry in the winter. The rolling hills and winding dirt roads of their home were lined with lush fields of silken grass and outspoken birds. Copses of trees hid the creatures that milled about the gardens at night, rousing the irritation of Franny’s goats. Naomi had fallen in love with the comfortable place, which meant she did occasionally take it for granted, like when she complained of spring rain that stunted outside plans. However, Franny would smile, make tea, and invite Naomi to sit on their porch with her, and Naomi’s annoyance would evaporate like the steam from her teacup.
On this particular morning, Naomi stood with a dulled sword relaxed at her side facing her classmate Piper Hawthorn. The first time Naomi had interacted with Piper was on a walk home from school. They had been classmates for years, never speaking a word between them until Naomi - to her astonishment - had correctly answered a question Piper had just gotten wrong in front of the whole class. Naomi had not recognized the significance of this moment, but Piper had been incensed. Fuming, she confronted Naomi on her walk home after school and declared that Naomi had “clown-red” hair, which made sense, because Naomi, “was a clown.”
“Don’t get too proud of yourself, it’ll just be embarrassing!” Piper had said before righteously throwing dirt in Naomi’s face and then sprinting away.
By the time the dirt had been thrown, Naomi had caught on to Piper’s state of mind. And while she remained ignorant of her transgression, her feelings had been wounded, and Naomi was not keen to let Piper’s aggression go unanswered. The next day, Naomi threw Piper to the ground so many times during morning sparring exercises that the instructor had to separate them. Piper did not bully Naomi again. Eventually they even managed to form a kind of friendship - or, at least, a relationship of respectful competition.
The early morning sun created a halo around Piper’s sandy blonde hair, braided and secured at the crown of her head. She was slouching a bit, sinking into her right hip, flicking her sword back and forth. She looked casual, but no one who had seen her spar would be fooled. She was a coiled spring beneath the wrinkled linen of her late summer trousers.
“You look disturbed,” Piper said without looking.
“I had a dream,” Naomi said. “But not a normal dream.”
Piper scoffed. “Ooh.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. Piper was not one for empathy.
“What was it about?” Piper asked.
Naomi squinted at her, suspicious of her curiosity.
Piper stopped swinging her sword and finally made eye contact. “I’m really asking,” she said.
Naomi shrugged, wanting to seem nonchalant. “Laugh if you want. It was me but not me, and something was after me.” A pause. “It felt like a warning. Like something is coming. Something dangerous.”
Piper laughed. “That sounds a bit self-absorbed. Honorable Miss Protagonist.”
“Begin!” Instructor Sponder shouted from the other end of the yard.
“Nevermind, then.”
Morning came again. The pale light slathered the shimmering grass with a dusty golden glow - the beginning of a day of freedom after a physically exhausting week. Naomi’s stated intention was to meet Piper in town and practice some ceremonial sword patterns for the upcoming late summer Harvest Festival. In reality, they were going to drink too much coffee, eat too much pastry, and make fun of their instructor much too loudly for a public venue. Naomi tied her sword to her belt, tucked her lunch and water canteen into a small pack, and trotted down the path toward the gate.
“Hurry back!” Franny called after her. “I have a few extra chores for you today.”
“Blah!” Naomi called back, mimicking a gag.
“You’ll get bored, otherwise!” Franny said.
Naomi smiled, turning her head so her mother wouldn’t see.
Having no memory of what came before and no way of finding out, Naomi attempted to pretend that Franny was all she needed to know about her entrance into the world. Growing up in Golden Grove had its challenges - in a sea of pastels and muted blondes and browns, Naomi stuck out like a red beetle in pale porridge. Her sudden arrival was easy fuel for gossip, just as much as her sunbaked, gold-flecked skin. People often made this clear to her, even when they didn’t mean to. At night, while daydreaming over homework she was supposed to be doing, Naomi would imagine what it might be like to have a sureness that she was accepted - to know that she had found her community and they wanted her there. It seemed a lofty dream and one she shouldn’t put too much energy toward.
But her mother Franny had at least seen something beautiful in her. The first time Naomi had stepped in front of a mirror as a little girl, she had gasped. She had expected to look like Franny - soft, pink features, muted gray hair, cornflower blue eyes. Instead, she saw violently red and gold hair that stuck out in all directions in loose curls and fly-aways. Like ruffled feathers or a full mane or like her head was on fire. Her skin was golden-tan and freckled, her eyes were piercing amber. It was not what Naomi had expected, and it was not admired by the neighbors. But Franny said Naomi’s hair was like a hearth in winter and her eyes the color of sugar maples in autumn. She likened Naomi’s freckled face and shoulders to twinkling stars. And so it didn’t matter what anyone else thought or sometimes even what Noami thought. To her mother, she was beautiful.
Naomi sauntered down the road, taking her time because Piper would be late. The sun climbed, hinting at the anticipated heat of the day. She wore the formal training uniform of the female Golden Grove combat students - a white shirt buttoned to her neck, a hay-gold jacket with golden buttons littering the front and shoulders with a tailcoat that fell to the back of her knees, and black trousers and boots. Her pack bounced against her back, and she half-consciously tugged at the straps to tighten them.
Naomi reached the gate of Franny’s property, stepped through, and shut it behind her. And then, for a reason she didn’t understand, her stomach dropped.
Her hand squeezed the gate’s handle and her eyes darted around, searching for the reason - something that her eyes had seen or that her ears had heard that her mind had not yet processed. The sky had grown hazy, and the sun was now a sickly yellow-gray. Birds cried out. Naomi realized that she had been blocking out the noise with her own thoughts, but the sound was enormous - frantic.
Maybe it was a storm. Birds get restless when storms are on the way.
Naomi dismissed her uneasy feeling and kept walking. Still, her head jerked around at every noise, and her body felt wound up, her organs twisted into nervous knots.
It’s nothing. It’s safe here.
Just calm down. Deep breaths.
The town came into view, and she stopped. Smoke. Her feet found movement again, and she sped up to a jog. That must be it - someone’s shop or home had caught fire. I ought to hurry and try to help, she thought, relieved. Her jog brought her into town, but she saw no movement in the outer neighborhood that contained most of the homes. Perhaps everyone had gone into the center of town to help with the fire. Perhaps it was someone’s shop after all.
Then she heard the ringing of the town bell, desperate and erratic. And then it stopped. Fear crept back into her body, standing every hair on end. Something wasn’t right.
When Naomi rounded the corner into the main square of town, her body shuddered to a halt as she took in the scene before her. Men in black clothes holding rifles, axes, knives.
The younger men and boys of Golden Grove were kneeling in the dirt. Naomi saw the first boy she ever had a crush on, and his eye was swollen shut. The men she had known her entire life - some were crying, others stared numbly at the ground. Children were in another group, wailing and reaching for their parents as those same parents begged their children to stay still so as not to be hurt. The women were separated, standing to the left. Naomi saw Piper in that group - blood ran down the side of her head, and tears streaked her face. Her eyes were equal parts terror and rage.
Then Naomi noticed the bodies. They were everywhere. The scent of blood hit her, and she nearly buckled with nausea. Her body ached to stop this.
Instructor Sponder was in the grips of these men, being led into the square from the direction of the bell tower. He was thrown to the ground. One of the strange men said something to another, and the second man stepped forward, put a knife to the instructor’s throat, and pulled until blood ran down the front of him and his head fell back and his neck opened up and Naomi watched her existence splitting in two - before and after this moment. He fell forward into the dust. Screams. Hopeless, despairing screams.
The invaders looked at Naomi, and she realized she had been screaming. They pointed at her, and two of them started in her direction.
Naomi looked at Piper, and Piper looked at Naomi with fear and longing and pleading. Naomi was frozen. I don’t know what to do. All of her training, every single drill, dissolved into panic. Naomi looked to the townspeople to help her. She even looked to the men in black to spare her - to see her humanity and relent. I don’t know what to do. What am I doing? Help me. Someone help me!
“Run!” Piper wailed.
Naomi’s heart thrashed against her chest, her legs like iron - numb to all reason.
“They’re coming, you idiot! Run!”
And that did it. Naomi felt her feet again and found speed, kicking up dirt and rocks. She could hear them following, footsteps thundering over the sound of her own pulse rushing in her head.
I’m going to die.
She careened into the forest, taking cover in the trees. All Naomi wanted to do was run home. I can’t. I can’t lead them to my mother. She zigzagged through the trees, and she was faster than she had ever been. She reached a clearing, turned to look. They were still within sight, their steps loud and violent in the forest underbrush. I have to run farther. I have to lose them. She darted and spun around trees, making her route less predictable. When she could no longer hear their footsteps, she made a long silent arc toward the way they came and took cover. Finally, she heard them stumbling through the undergrowth. They were unsure of her direction. All she had to do was stay silent.
It took all of her willpower because her chest was still heaving, sweat was pouring down her face, dizzy from fear. Her ears were ringing and her stomach churned. Gods just let me keep breakfast down until I am alone.
“Where is she?” one of the men said through his huffing and puffing. A Cedarvale accent, she noticed.
The other one was breathing just as heavily. “I’m not paid enough for this,” he said. “We’ll say she wasn’t here.”
Naomi could hardly believe her luck when she heard them walking back toward town. And then guilt washed over her as she remembered everyone who did not get the chance to run away. She shook so much that she was not sure she could stand yet, but her mind began to return to her.
I can’t go home, Naomi realized. They would be watching the roads. They would likely sweep the surrounding areas for others. Her breath caught as she thought of her mother, Franny, chased by the invaders. Mother would have heard the bell, Naomi told herself, would have walked outside and seen the smoke. If the gods were just, Franny would listen to her instincts.
Franny was paranoid. It was how she managed to stay calm. Because of this paranoia and tendency to plan for the worst, Franny had insisted upon having a plan for such a moment. They had gone over it once a month, even when all Naomi could muster was eye rolls and long, beleaguered sighs. Naomi was grateful now for those boring afternoon drills. In the event of a catastrophe, if they were separated, they were to head northwest. They were to meet at the town of Templesgate and find shelter at a nearby monastery or temple or something like - Firekeepers, Franny had called them. It was a plan first concocted and decided upon when Senator Geraud Crawmford had, three years ago, appointed himself Chancellor and taken absolute control of Cedarvale following a suspiciously timed attack within the Senate. And Franny would not be outplanned.
But now, as Naomi considered that she would have to go through with this plan, she felt weak. She did not want to make the journey alone and had wanted them to go together, if they must go at all. Naomi dug around in her bag and pulled out a gray, cotton scarf, wrapping it around her hair and face. It was stifling, but would make it easier to blend in with her surroundings.
She riffled through the contents of her pack, and it wasn't much. Her canteen was full, her packed lunch that Franny had insisted she take (and which she had been planning on ignoring for pastry) was the only food she had, and there was a small first aid kit (also at Franny’s insistence). Naomi thanked the gods for the warm summer weather, realizing she would have to sleep uncovered. Her sword was still at her side, but it was dull. She would need to find a way to sharpen it. A pit formed in her stomach. She would need more supplies but had no way of knowing: the men who took the town - how far was their reach? Where else would she find them?
The newspaper had been ranting about protestors and, “rebels to Collective unity,” but there had not been any attacks, not since the Senate slaughter, and even then… the perpetrators of that attack were not agreed upon (especially by Franny). So who had attacked, and would she come across them again?
Her sweat began to cool; she shivered. Naomi looked to the sun and began to move north. She would need a map if at all possible. As the day wore on, the silence of an unoccupied forest was deafening against the noise in Naomi’s mind. The world before her was unfamiliar, vast, and lonely. But what else was there to do? There was comfort in having a task. And so on she walked, farther and farther from her mother, from Piper, and from the only home she had ever known.
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